My wife, actually. She’s 5 feet tall, 110 pounds and cute as can be... but she might as well be Godzilla when it comes to fantasy baseball.
I sure didn’t, and if I had, I may not have invited her to participate in her first ever fantasy league.
Maybe these feelings come from some kind of caveman chauvinism genes attached to my Y chromosome, or maybe it’s something instilled in little boys on the playground. Whatever the reason may be, it’s simply unacceptable to be beaten by a girl... especially when it comes to sports.
Every time I look at the standings and see her “Tiny Bats of Fury” above my team’s name, I find myself filled with utter disbelief. How could this happen?
It’s not one of those ultra serious leagues, like the other one I’m in. This league is just friends and family. Three of the 10 players are women, and since there are only a couple hardcore sports fanatics in the bunch, I figured it would be a comfortable place for her to start. After all, she’s only been watching for the last six or seven years, whereas I’ve been playing and studying baseball for more than two decades.
Honestly, I figured she wouldn't have the stamina to stay active for an entire 162-game season. I didn’t think she would draft well, or beat me to every free agent gem on the market... Well, that’s not entirely true; I did manage to grab Edison Volquez before she got her talons in him.
The most I hoped for in this experiment was that she had a little fun, and learned a little more about the game I’ve loved since childhood. Plus, it would give us something fun and inexpensive to do during the week.
Turns out, she’s been paying a lot closer attention than I thought. Looking back, I should have seen the warning signs.
“Honey, can I have a Jason Varitek jersey for Christmas?”
“Why don’t we go to the stadium on Saturday or Sunday?”
“Yeah, I know we don’t get that game, but don’t worry, I ordered the baseball package earlier today.”
That’s right. She’s been planning my fantasy demise for the last half dozen years. She's a stone-cold hustler. I can see her now; sneaking out of bed at 4 a.m. to check out the West Coast box scores, plotting three-year ERA charts on her lunch break. Oh, she’s a crafty one!
I mean, that has to be the explanation, right? It couldn’t possibly be that she’s better than me at fantasy. No... no... that would be crazy.
I know! If I just drop all my extra batters and play five starting pitchers I can... wait. What if I get a bunch of speed guys and go for stolen... no, that wouldn't work.
Man, she must be loving every minute of this.
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